The Heretic of the 3rd Gate
by Nanaelil
Summary: What happens when a Necromancer bids goodbye to a dear friend?


Bathed in the shadow of the Wizard's Tower in the Common Lands, the stranger pulled a bottle of well-aged Elven wine from his ghostly robes and handed it to the Drow. "Do you have enough rations for your trip, brother?" the wizard asked the stranger.   
He smiled. I'll be fine, he signed in the ancient silent tongue. I won't be long.   
The wizard nodded. His form slowly changed from that of a robe-enshrouded sorcerer to that of a swirling cloud of bluish black smoke. The stranger could hear a wolf howling off in the distance as thunder rolled across the Common Lands. As the sun began to set, he consulted his compass and started towards the Kithicor Woods.   
  
***  
The crisp night air blanketed the nearly deserted back streets of the city. Deputy Millin pulled his cloak even tighter around his portly frame, cursing the dampness that plagued his beloved Rivervale in early fall. He pulled a small flask from within his tunic and, glancing nervously around, took a quick pull from it, wiping his sweaty face on his sleeve. While the thick liquor burned his throat, the clammy fog made him shiver. He started towards the merchant's section of town. Squeals and giggles broke the silence.   
"Uncle Millin! Uncle Millin! Guess what?" His twin nieces, Sonia and Sania, dashed up the walkway and hugged him. "Look what we got in Freeport!" they babbled in unison, each vying for his full attention.   
"Well, well...what do we have here?" he said, stooping down to meet the children.   
Clasped in tiny hands, each girl held up a small elven doll. Sonia's doll was a High Elf clad in purple armor. Sania clung to a Wood Elf holding a tiny metal flute. "Grandma says that my doll will cast charms to make my hair shine! I am going to call her Nenlaen...isn't she beautiful!" Her eyes were wide with the joy of childhood. "Someday, I'll be as pretty as she is!"  
Deputy Milling laughed heartily. "I think you have that backwards, Sonia. Someday, your beloved Nenlaen will be as beautiful as you are." She hugged him, melting into his arms.   
"Hmph! That's nothing," Sania interrupted as she stepped in front of her sister. "My doll is a from the City in the Trees. Grandma says that my doll was made my Johnnee B. Good. And he took such care while making it that it carries part of his spirit with him." Deputy Millin remembered when his nieces were born and how the village had showered their mother with furniture, clothes, and a never-ending supply of fresh-baked goods. He smiled inwardly.   
"When you put it under your pillow at night, it sings a special song that keeps away bad spirits!" She clasped it tightly to her. "I love it and I will keep it forever and ever and..."  
Sonia thrust her doll into the deputy's face. "So which do you like better!" she asked. "I bet he likes mine better!"   
"No he doesn't"   
"Yes, he does!"  
"Does not!"  
"Does, too!"  
"Mom!"   
A matronly voice called from a nearby porch. "I know two little halfling girls whom I am going to feed to the nasties in Kith if they don't get out of this chilly night air!"  
Deputy Millin tried not to smile. Both girls shrieked in mock fear and giggled as they dashed home.   
"Bye Uncle Millin!" the girls yelled as they raced each other home. Their time-horned argument echoed softly off the Vale's many stores, taverns, and Inns.   
"Does not."  
"Does too!"  
"Does not!"  
***  
The stranger cursed the thick fog as he slogged through the never-ending mud, mindful of the needle in his compass. When he was sure of his direction, he placed the compass back in his pocked, stopping only to squash a red spider with his skull staff. He was well aware that he was being watched. He had felt that all-too-familiar cold presence the moment he had stepped into this wood. The stranger had spent a lifetime in graveyards, asylums, and long-since-forgotten battlefields during his study the dead. He knew the pain they felt, and that pain was strong in Kithicor. It clung to Kith, reborn every evening. Trapped in that bleak realm between life and true death, the undead were denied final peace. It was a pain he knew well. As the stranger passed over a small rocky hillock, he could still hear the echoes of voices cursed to have their last wants to go unanswered:   
Gareth? When are you coming home? She sat in maternal glow as she held her round belly, still waiting for a husband who would never return. Her vacant eyes seemed to look through him. She sat by a gnarled oak tree, her once beautiful face now withered by the centuries. Gareth? Where are you? I can't see you? Gareth? One had been recently promoted to Captain of the Guard and was returning home to tell his family when he had been ambushed by the Butcher Block Bandits. Belanna! Oh, I can't wait to tell my beloved Belanna that I got the promotion! Belanna!! The stranger saw something dart within the shadows. Several beings, twisted and rotting, staggered out of his way as he approached. Gareth? Is that you? I still can't see you, dear. It's cold in here. I'm so cold.   
  
***  
Deputy Millin whistled to himself as he walked down the gentle slope that led him past the Holy Order of Bristlebane, tipping his hat to the lovely Vicar Thekela Meepup as she carefully instructed an Acolyte on the proper use of summoned bandages. A thickening fog settled on the sleepy community. Deputy Millin slogged down the last of the gentle slope as he pulled his cloak even tighter. Here the ground was thick with mud. Soft laughter and the gentle clink of glasses pierced the thick night air. Deputy Millin worked his way down a hill, mindful of the slick trail. He marched past the Cleric's guild, past the group of merchants loudly haggling by the city gate, all the way to the entrance to the Kithicor Woods. The wind sighed off in the cold distance. He drew his rapier, yet the cold steel afforded him little comfort.   
  
***  
It was the sound of a rapier being drawn that drew the stranger's attention back to matters at hand. The stranger watched the Deputy from a safe distance. He studied his fighting style: subtle thrusts, feigns, well-timed parries, and kicks. Deputy Millin recreated the moves that had been taught to him; they were the moves that The Guardians of the Vale had been teaching for as far back as anyone could remember. Sighing, the stranger pulled his cloak around him, blending into the surrounding shadows. Concealed from prying eyes, he started towards the gate to Rivervale.   
  
***  
Deputy Millin whiled away the time on guard duty by practicing his thrusts and parries on the seemingly endless supply of Bixies who plagued those traveling to and from the Vale. Any Bixie unfortunate enough to get within a stone's throw of the Deputy was treated to a most hateful barrage of kicks, swats, and the business end of a torch. This only served to infuriate the Bixies. They returned en masse and charged the Deputy, surrounding him. They darted in, buzzing angrily as they searching for an uncovered spot of flesh. As Deputy Millin punted away a wounded Bixie, another found an open patch of skin on the unsuspecting Deputy's neck and brought a short-lived glory to the Stone Hive. Millin winced and rubbed the growing welt. He took another long pull from his flask as the last members of the Raid on Rivervale buzzed their way back to the gloomy depths of Kith. The ache in his neck growing steadily, Deputy Millin decided that the city gate seemed safe enough for now, and he made his way back to the safety of the city. A sickly chill washed over him. Deputy Millin never did notice the passing of the stranger.   
  
  
***  
The stranger traversed the narrow, twisting streets of Rivervale as if he had grown up there. When he found the pottery wheel and Mooto's Keg, he knew that he was close. Between Pearl's pub and the path to Misty Thicket, he found what he had come for at the end of a long alley: a thick   
granite headstone erected in memory of those who had died defending the Vale. He took off his backpack and unbuckled the brass clips, pulling forth a large, well-oiled leather bag that he laid down besides the memorial.   
  
***  
  
Deputy Rollin finished the last of his Double Brewed Double Stout Dwarven Ale and slammed the mug on the table. Wiping the froth from his mouth, he shoved his last slice of Pickled Froglock into his mouth, choking it down. The tangy sauce ran down his chin. He burped and tossed a bag of gold to bartender before meandering over to the coat check. When he found a merchant who did not have an up to date Merchant's Permit, Deputy Rollin issued him a 500 PP fine before settling for a quick 100 PP "fee" to forget the incident. Satisfied, he donned his cloak and started home.   
  
***  
  
The street lamps cast long shadows that danced playfully along the walls of the Druid's Guild. Deputy Millin drew his rapier and practiced in the torchlight, admiring the shadows that made him seem impossibly tall. His moves were crisp, as had only finished his training a fortnight ago. His only regret was that none of his former Guardian of Vale instructors were there to see him. Something in the shadows caught his eye. He stepped into the darkness and started towards where he had seen the movement. Had it been the gentle sway of a cloak?   
  
***  
Hraldon Windsong picked himself up and forced himself to continue. He came to a crossroads, and, being unfamiliar with the city, he did not know where to run. His breathing was labored and he had a large gash above his eye. He dashed down a nearby alley that he hoped would take him out of the city only to find himself trapped in a dead end. Hraldon felt frantic. He crawled under some stacked crates and tried to hide, but Deputy Rollin's club managed to find him, time and again: his back, his shoulder, his head. When Hraldon tried to get up and run, the Deputy kicked him in the ribs. Hraldon slipped and fell, smashing his face on a streetlamp. He swayed as he tried to rise, the world spinning around him, but he only managed to stagger a few feet before dizziness overtook him. He crumpled onto the cobblestone. "For the last time, unemployed minstrels are not welcome in my Vale!" Deputy Rollin screamed. He raised his club one last time and brought it down on Hraldon's face. Hraldon's world faded to black.   
***  
Safe within the confines of the shadows, Deputy Mullin watched in awe at the sight before him. Standing before Rivervale's very own Defenders of the Vale Memorial Headstone was a Drow. He had only heard rumors of Dark Elves; he had never seen one in the flesh. Millin was both fascinated by and terrified of the cloaked man who stood before him. The Deputy watched as the stranger took off his backpack and deftly unclasped the blackened brass buckles. The stranger took what seemed to be a very well kept traveler's bag out of his backpack and held it close to him. Millin's heart pounded and he was soaked with sweat. Straining to get closer, Deputy Millin nervously crept closer. He heard the stranger whisper a Halfling Prayer and watched as he made a strange sign in the air. Although the stranger stood with his back to the Deputy, Mullin could see that the stranger was carrying a staff with a large, alien skull atop it. The ghostly gray of the stranger's robe seemed to eerily match the color of the headstone. Crouching, the stranger carefully laid the bag down at the foot of the memorial before donning his backpack.   
  
***  
Satisfied, Deputy Rollin stepped into a back alley to relieve himself, chuckling over the events of the evening. He smirked when he thought of the Bard he had bludgeoned. Deputy Rollin hated Bards and took great personal pleasure in throwing every minstrel he met out of the Vale. He meandered past The MudToe Saloon. Some heavily perfumed, cheap-looking women beckoned the Deputy to come in and rest for a while. Rollin decided to take them up on their offer, but he wanted to check on his latest batch of Honey Mead first. He had spent the last two weeks doting over Mooto's Keg, carefully adding a pinch of this and a batch of that. Adjusting and readjusting the temperature. He wanted this ale to be perfect. Rollin flicked his cigar into an overflowing rain barrel and started down to the Merchant's District. He enjoyed his long walks through the winding streets and back alleys, especially during the fall when the fog gave his Vale a mysterious air about it. As he made his way past the alley that held the Defenders of the Vale memorial, he happened upon one of his former students engaged in a vain attempt to hide in the shadows, but something was terribly wrong. His student stood there, trembling, unable to move. Deputy Millin was acting as if he had seen a ghost.   
  
***  
Deputy Millin was surprised that the stranger had not heard the pounding of his heart, let alone his labored breathing. He knew that he had to report this sighting to the Captain of the Guard. As he turned to move, the night air was shattered.  
"Hail Deputy Millin, why aren't you by the City Gate?" Flecks of spit shot from his mouth as he screamed. "Isn't that where I assigned you" Deputy Rolling barked? "Well? Answer me!" Deputy Rollin started towards Millin when he noticed what Millin had been staring at. He stopped dead in his tracks.   
  
***  
  
Deputy Millin flinched when his old instructor started to scream at him. His Rapier fell out of his hand and hit the cobblestone with a loud clang. His eyes grew huge and his mouth hung open as his weapon rolled behind a large rain barrel.   
The stranger slowly turned around and scowled at Deputy Rollin. The Deputy found himself staring into the coldest eyes that he had ever seen. A lifetime of hate was deeply etched into the stranger's face. Millin looked at his instructor and then for his rapier, which had rolled out of sight. Millin froze.   
"Well, well...what do we have here? A spy?" Deputy Rollin asked. Rollin walked partway down the alley and slowly drew his short sword. "We won't have to bother with a jade coffin, Dark Elf. I'd rather bury your ass alive." The stranger's laughter was soft, almost musical.   
Deputy Rollin charged the stranger. He placed all of his weight behind his buckler, intent on shield bashing the stranger into the memorial. With a shrill battle cry, Deputy Rollin lowered his shoulder and braced for impact.   
The stranger stared at Deputy Rollin, measuring how much time he had before the Deputy reached him. With the Deputy fully committed to his charge, the stranger cast Shadow Step and appeared down by the opening of the alley.   
By the time Rollin had realized what had happened, it was too late. He ran full speed into the memorial that the stranger had been standing in front of, and his world flashed white. When he came to, Rollin found himself sprawled on the wet cobblestone, his left shoulder far from its natural position. His head ached. The Deputy groped for his sword as one arm hung uselessly. Rollin's mouth was filled with the bitter taste of copper. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and spat what was left of his front teeth onto the street. Rollin leaned heavily on the squat Grey tombstone as he staggered to his feet. He started towards the stranger only to have his legs betray him.  
The stranger whispered something from the mouth of the alley. A hideous black fog rose from the earth and begun to form around Rollin's feet, slowly crawling up his legs. It made its way up his legs, his torso. The blackness washed up his neck and eventually found its way up his nose, into his mouth, and down his throat. Deputy Rollin began to gag. The skin on his legs began to blister and large welts formed on his face and neck. Blood poured from his mouth and nose. Rollin staggered towards the stranger, his left arm dangling uselessly besides him. The stranger whispered again and Deputy Rollin's face began to smolder. Rollin lunged desperately at the stranger, yet his sword bit only air. Unable to keep his balance any longer, Rollin staggered wildly, his head lolling to the side. Deputy Rollin could take no more and smashed into the rain barrel, toppling it. He saw the stranger standing above him, the skull staff seeming even larger by its closeness to the Deputy's face. Rollin stared vacantly into the gleaming eyes of the skull staff. He wept bitterly as he watched the pretty blue wisps pour out of him and into the awaiting mouth of the staff. He felt impossibly cold and shivered uncontrollably. "No, not a spy" the stranger responded. "Just a visitor." As the last wisps of blue-gray were drained from Deputy Rollin, the face on the skull staff grinned cruelly. The stranger turned and started towards Deputy Millin.   
  
  
***  
  
When Deputy Millin realized that the stranger was walking towards him, he closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer to the gods. He wept for his twin nieces, whom he would never see again. He could still hear the far off barking of a dog, yet he could only stand there, his eyes shut tightly. Millin silently cursed himself for volunteering for the Rivervale Militia. He had always wanted to be a baker, but his parents had demanded that he enlist.   
When Deputy Millin opened his eyes, the stranger was gone and Millin's rapier had been returned to its sheath. The Deputy didn't care to look at what was left of Rollin. He stepped over the corpse and retrieved the large, well-oiled leather bag. It was heavier than he had expected. He opened it to find a pair of Vambraces of Ro. He flipped them over and read the simple inscription on the back: Brother.   
By the time Deputy Millin had reached the City Gate, the stranger was long gone. He shouted for him, but all he got in return was an echo. Kithicor felt especially cold that evening. It was a cold that clung to the woods, reborn every evening when a woman returned at dusk, her belly round, still awaiting the return of her husband.   



End file.
